


Come Here Often?

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack and Smut, Hannibal pretends he's Will, M/M, Role Playing, Will pretends he's Hannibal, both need to work on their characterization, goofy and sexy, smack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Hannibal and Will have been together for a bit and decide a little role playing might spice things up. Will pretends to be a stylish suave psychiatrist, Hannibal pretends to be a scruffy empathetic dog enthusiast. They may be a little too into this idea...





	

**Author's Note:**

> It was an honor to be paired with the wonderful [meres-argias](http://meres-argias.tumblr.com/) for this piece. Her art is incredible, please check her out!

As Will adjusted his waistcoat for the third time he marveled at his husband. How the fussy prick hadn’t died from heat exhaustion 80 times by now was anyone’s guess. For his part, Will was already prickling with sweat, he could feel it collecting into little rivulets down his back and gathering at his temples. The knot of his tie was too tight and he felt like he was losing air. He wanted to run a hand through his hair, but he was afraid it would ruin the meticulous gel job that had taken him far too long to do.

         This fucking game had better be worth it.

         He glared at his red wine. He’d asked the bartender for a glass of the most expensive red in the house, because he couldn’t be bothered to skim a list filled with incomprehensible French names and pedigrees. He glowered at it now, resenting that it wasn’t whiskey and growing increasingly warm and agitated. Hannibal’s people suit, as it turned out, was a poor fit on Will.

         Just as he was about to pull out his cell and send an angry text, the doors to the bar burst open.

         In flailed Hannibal, tripping over his own feet and scowling at the ground. He was juggling several files – all, Will noted with a smirk, were labeled _murder most foul_ – and tugging at a messenger bag around his shoulders. His hair was a mess, falling over his eyes and sticking up a bit in the back, he must have stuck his head out the window like a dog on the drive here. Annoyingly, the disarrayed hair and the three days of stubble on Hannibal’s chin made Will’s cock twitch and his face heat further. It didn’t help that he’d clearly borrowed Will’s own red flannel and dockers, which stretched across Hannibal obscenely, emphasizing the doctor’s broad chest and ample ass.

         Will adjusted his legs on the barstool, hoping his thickening cock would be less obvious to passersby. Of course, Hannibal didn’t sit next to Will. He sat at the end of the bar, hunched behind the files. Will sighed and rose. He tried to amble over to Hannibal with the swagger of a jungle cat, but his throbbing dick made his steps a stilted. Still, Will managed a limping gate that could look seductive - if you squinted. He took the seat next to Hannibal and leaned in, making sure to violate his personal space.

         “Hello.” He could never duplicate the accent properly, so Will settled for keeping his voice to a seductive purr.

         Hannibal ducked even further behind the folder. Will snorted, taking a finger and tipping the paper back to reveal a charcoal sketch of their third kill, the rapist in Caracas.

         After hours of carving their victim into a wandering spider, using legs from his accomplices to complete the design, they had kissed for the first time. The taste of blood and salt would always make Will think of that night and how Hannibal had cried, fat joyous tears clearing clean trails through his bloody face.

         “Not fond of eye contact, are you?”

         “I’m not fond of anything.” Hannibal groused keeping his brow knitted. “Except dogs. I like dogs. Do you like dogs?”

         “I don’t like anything that doesn’t have a master’s degree in philosophy and a three piece suit.”

         “Oh,” said Hannibal. “Then we have nothing to speak about.”

         Hannibal took out his phone, went to YouTube and started searching dog videos. Will kicked his ankle, but received no response from Hannibal.

         The empath sighed.

         “That’s quite all right, I was merely hoping for an opinion on my latest composition,” Will offered.

         Hannibal looked up.

         “You compose?”

         Will scoffed.

         “Look at me. OF COURSE I compose,” Will snotted. “But only on the harpsichord, on hand-woven paper with a quill pen dipped in the ink of virgin squids.”

         A small tick of Hannibal’s lip was the only indication that Will’s blow had landed.

         “Well, as long as someone in tight pants with teased hair can scream it while similarly attired miscreant plays an electric guitar badly, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

         Will smiled, then cleared his throat dramatically.

         “I’ll let you be the judge.” Will said. “Forgive me for improvising, as the bar doesn’t seem to have a harpsichord.”

         He started to hum the _Oscar Meyer Wiener_ song. Hannibal’s smile threatened to move from his eyes to his lips.

         “That was just beautiful, and rather reminiscent of my childhood.”

         “Eat a lot of wieners when you were little?”

         “I always wanted to, but I kept myself in denial for years.” Hannibal said with wide, innocent eyes. “But now that I’ve started, I can’t get enough.”

         Will choked on his wine and glared, but a smirk played at the edges of his lips. Their eyes held for a long moment.

         “Can I get you something, sir?”

         They turned to the bartender in unison.

         “What should I get?” Hannibal asked Will. “Are there any dog themed cocktails?”

         "Oh I'm sorry, I can’t help. I only drink wine that could have fought in the First World War," Will said, offering the bartender with a sly smirk.

         "Wine? You mean the stuff that comes in boxes?" Hannibal sounded genuinely befuddled as he pushed up his glasses.

         "I did that ONCE." Will growled under his breath.

         It had been a joke, really, bringing home the box of wine simply labeled “red”, and presenting it to Hannibal. He had recoiled from the offering as though it would bite. Will had chased him around the kitchen with it before finally pinning him to a counter and dumping a good portion of foul smelling generic red on Hannibal’s head. Will had worried he’d gone too far when Hannibal’s eyes went wide, the cannibal batting the box out of Will’s hand and throwing him on the kitchen floor with frightening strength. But instead of teeth, wet lips had latched on to Will’s neck as Hannibal frantically tore at his clothes.

         Their first time in the new kitchen would be forever linked in Will’s mind to the scents of cheap red wine and burnt squid.

         “Yes, I know. I saved the box,” Though not visible on his mouth, there was a warm smile in Hannibal’s voice and eyes. Will couldn’t help his answering silly grin, or the brief caress of Hannibal’s canvas clad knee.

         The bartender cleared his throat. Immediately, they pulled back from each other and resumed their roles.

         “We, uh, don’t have boxed wine, sir.”

         Hannibal ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair ruffling it as he scratched the back of his head. Will wanted to roll his eyes at the gesture, but had to admit, there was something appealing about the rumpled picture he presented.

         “I don’t know…” Hannibal worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Do you have any turpentine?”

         The bartender expelled an annoyed breath and leveled a flat gaze at Hannibal. Clearly, this game wasn’t as amusing to everyone.

         “No sir, unfortunately we don’t carry any turpentine.”

         Hannibal let out a long suffering sigh.

         “Well, find me your cheapest, smelliest whiskey, then. I suppose that will have to do.”

         The bartender looked between the two men, rolled his eyes and left.

         “That was rude.” Will observed coolly. He pulled a small notebook out of his breast pocket and made a notation.

         “What are you doing?”

         “Inspiration for a recipe struck, I must jot it down before I forget.”

         Hannibal raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

         “You cook?”

         “Oh yes, I’m a gourmet chef. Cook with only the fanciest ingredients, like elf ears and unicorn’s blood.”

         “Oh yeah? Me too!” Hannibal smiled, a lopsided grin. Will wondered if he looked half as charming when he wore that expression.

         “Really? What do you like cooking?”

         “Dog food mostly. Have I told you about my dogs? I have many dogs. I love dogs.” Will rolled his eyes, but Hannibal looked up and something sparked between them. “Although I made an excellent dessert last week.”

         Will’s cock perked again. He could practically feel Hannibal’s tongue on his chest, where the doctor had lapped homemade ganache off of Will’s nipples with torturous precision. Hannibal had written words across Will’s back using a pastry brush, only erasing them with his tongue after Will guessed them.

_Stag. Cruel. Fever. Love._

         Will had been begging and rolling his hips into their expensive sheets by the time Hannibal had written the last sticky word in the dip of Will’s back.

_Suck._

         The memory of chocolate and flesh parting his lips made Will’s breathing slow. He found Hannibal’s eyes again, they were dilated and brimming with heat.

         “Whatever it was, I hope it was chocolate coated.” Will’s voice was like sandpaper, his clothes were far too tight now.

         A _clink_ broke the moment.

         The bartender sat the glass of whiskey down next to Hannibal and retreated.

         Will cleared his throat.

         “Those are some rather tasteless crimes depicted in your files.”

         Hannibal took a gulp of whiskey and almost managed to refrain from making a face at the bitter, cheap fluid.

         “My thoughts are often not tasty.” Hannibal managed, sounding like the liquor had knocked the wind out of him.

         “Well, one must find a way to build barriers to prevent such thoughts.” Offered Will with a raised eyebrow.

         “I prefer to keep them chained.” Hannibal said. He raised his arm slightly, the sleeve of Will’s flannel riding up to reveal a leather cuff.

         A leather cuff that should be attached to one of the legs of their anniversary present. Hannibal twitched his head down and hid his eyes, exposing his neck to Will. The bite mark was mottled pink and yellow - fading fast, but the sight of it nearly made Will spurt in his pants.

         Will had spent months building that bench, making sure it was slanted perfectly to hold Hannibal’s ass in the air. The legs of the bench were angled to keep Hannibal spread wide, with supple leather cuffs fastened to each end. Will had bought special cherry wood that precisely matched the rest of the bedroom furniture, had custom ordered the creamy burnished leather pads with gold stitching, and hidden it away until their anniversary. He arrived home early to retrieve the bench from the shed and set it up in their bedroom.

         Only, the bench was missing. When Will finally thought to look in the bedroom, he found Hannibal, draped over the bench and buckled in, save for one wrist, cock leaking on the floor, hole glistening and open. Will had never gotten hard so quickly in his life. The rush of blood left him woozy, impossibly drunk on the man displayed before him. With fumbling fingers, he secured Hannibal’s wrist to the bench before dropping his pants and sliding in.

         He rode Hannibal for what felt like hours, fucking them both into incoherence. It was a testament to Will’s carpentry skills that Hannibal’s thrashing didn’t break the bench in two.

         Later, after Will had tucked Hannibal into their bed and cleaned up the mess on their newly refinished floors, he pressed Hannibal into the mattress. He rubbed sweet-smelling salve on the places where the cuffs had pulled Hannibal’s skin. When Will moved to apply some to the raw teeth marks on Hannibal’s neck, a hand stopped him.

         “Not there, please.”  

         “It’s deep, Hannibal.”

         “I would have it no other way.”

         They next few hours were less ferocious, as Will whispered his devotion into Hannibal’s torn neck, bodies writhing and filling softly.

         Hannibal touched Will’s knee, shattering the memory. The empath was throbbing in his pants, it was all he could do not to press his hand to his dick and squeeze.

         Fuck this game.

         Will leaned forward, face an impassive mask.

         “Unless you want me to fuck you against this bar right now, pay for the drinks and take me home.”

         “But I don’t even know your name!” Hannibal blushed, which made Will marvel. He didn’t know his cannibal could do that.

         “Dr. Hannibal Lecter-Graham,” Will said, holding out his hand. “Charmed.”

         “Will Graham-Lecter.” Hannibal replied, throwing some bills on the bar before taking Will’s hand, his palm sweaty. Will smiled, standing and helping Hannibal with his files. He adjusted Hannibal’s messenger bag, taking the opportunity to press his cock against Hannibal ass. Hannibal took a moment to stretch, and one of the buttons flew off of the flannel. Will squeezed his hands into fists to keep from sending the other buttons on a similar trajectory. Will settled for wrapping an arm around Hannibal and bustling him out of the bar.

         As soon as they hit the street, Hannibal stopped hunching and raising to his full height. His stumbling strides now sleek and confident. The transformation was immediate and startling.

         “Well, Dr. Lecter-Graham,” Hannibal started. “Did the game satisfy your need to spice up our sex life?”

         Will grabbed Hannibal by the hair and thrust him into the nearest alley. Shoving the cannibal up against a wall, Will yanked at the front of the dockers, freeing Hannibal’s hard cock. Will hit his knees in his custom suit, noting that Hannibal didn’t even flinch at the thought of the fine fabric hitting the filthy pavement.

         “Sometimes, Mr. Graham-Lecter, you can be quite obtuse.” Will said. He licked a stripe up Hannibal’s dick, watching as the doctor let his head fall back with a groan. “Our sex life is fine, I just wanted to see you in flannel.”


End file.
